


Time Will Heal

by amarvel, fearofflying



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Kinda, M/M, Mentions of Sex, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, RussianSpy!Steve, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Steve is found frozen by a Russian mob instead of SHIELD, WS!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarvel/pseuds/amarvel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearofflying/pseuds/fearofflying
Summary: Steve is recovered from the ice by a Russian Mob who recruit him to capture the infamous Winter Soldier. It's the 21st century and Steve doesn't know anyone, until he does.





	Time Will Heal

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork created by the amazingly talented sinkhol.tumblr.com and beta'd by the lovely Allyvia (@withinmelove)! Let me know what you think of this in the comments and give me a follow on Tumblr - infinityseb.tumblr.com

The coldness seeping into his bones, making his whole body ache, was the first thing Steve felt after he’d gained consciousness. The second he noted was that there were people surrounding him, noises whirling in the room. The third was the language the people were speaking. It wasn’t English. Bulgarian, or even Russian. Steve didn’t know. He tried to open his eyes. Maybe if he could see, then he’d be able to work out where he was and form some kind of…escape plan.

 

But he couldn’t. He was still frozen, internally. Steve had _no_ medical knowledge, except for what he’d learned about his own health from his trips to the hospital pre-serum, but he was guessing that he was temporarily paralyzed until the deep freeze within his body had warmed to room temperature. Steve concentrated harder, the serum allowing him to hear, feel more. It didn’t help. He still didn’t have the answers he needed. All it did was allow him to feel more of the ice burning in his veins and the sound of it melting hitting the floor, repeatedly. _Drop, drop, drop._

 

Time passed. Steve drifted between being unconscious and being vaguely aware of what was going on. Eventually, after a stretch of time that could’ve been hours or days, he tried again. He was able to open his eyes. Steve’s first instinct was to flinch, expecting his eyes to burn from the bright light. But there wasn’t any. It was dark. Steve looked out the corner of his eyes, noticing the only source of light was from the stainless steel door that was currently open. He didn’t dare move anymore than he already had, not wanting to gain the attention of the couple of people that still milled around the room. First, Steve looked down, over his own body. He was completely thawed out by now, just lying on a soaking wet bed, still in the clothes he wore when he crashed the plane into the ocean.

 

Steve let out a long, shaky breath, through his nose. At least there was some normalcy. It could’ve been worse. He could’ve been in a different set of clothes or even naked which would’ve just led to more panic. It didn’t mean he was warm yet, no, Steve felt just as cold as he’d been when he was still frozen.

 

Finally, he dared to look around the room he was in, just tilting his head to the side to see. He knew he would have to get their attention at some point, by choice or these people in the room would notice he was finally awake. There was no windows, no natural light. What looked to be a window before it was bordered up was opposite the metal bed he was lying on. The room smelled musty and damp. He was familiar with this scent. It smelt like the abandoned buildings he and his best friend, Bucky would go to in order to be away from the hussle and bussle of busy Brooklyn. Steve would sit there and sketch while Bucky explored or read comics. Sometimes he’d even exercise, shirtless, and make Steve count each sit-up he did. And wasn’t that such a sweet torture for Steve.

 

The whole room reminded Steve of the evil lairs he’d read about the comic books. It was silent, eerily silent. The kind that made Steve want to get up and run as far away as possible. But, as much as he wanted to do that, he couldn’t. There were two people positioned at the door. _Guards_ , Steve thought. They were both dressed in military style uniform and a rifle each around their necks. Their faces were steeled in a stern expression, staring straight ahead. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if there were two more positioned in the corridor. There was one other man in the room who was checking something on a screen. The blue light of the screen was a soft glow across the man’s face in this dim room. Maybe he was the doctor? Maybe he was here to look after Steve.

 

 

Maybe he’d read the situation completely wrong. Maybe these were _good_ people. Perhaps Howard and Peggy found him and were busy at the moment, and the guards were there to for _his_ safety. Maybe they’d rescued him instead of kidnapping him. After all, they did thaw him out from the ice. Steve took a deep breath to relax himself, sinking down on the wet bed. He was safe.

 

It was only so long that Steve could lay there, conscious, before the people realised he was awake. And so, after an hour or two of Steve staring up at the damp-covered ceiling, they realised. Steve kept silent, he didn’t know what was going on, what to feel...should he be scared? Were these people finally going to tell him who they were? He felt a flutter in his chest at the thought of finally, _finally_ being able to get some answers to all his questions.

 

But that’s not what happened, no. They continued to speak in their native language and grabbed Steve by the upper arms and dragged him out of the room.

 

“Where are we going?!” Steve asked, more panic rising in his chest. He looked between the two men whilst stumbling over his own feet, his body having almost forgotten what it was like to walk. “Where are you taking me?!”

 

Neither man answered. They just continued staring straight ahead, dragging Steve through the dirty, dark corridor. It wasn’t long until they reached another room, similar in style and condition to the one they’d left. Except, there wasn’t any computers. No extra people in the room, checking and monitoring him. It was just a bed and old, dingy, metal toilet. Steve had his doubts that it even worked.

 

The men threw Steve into the room and slammed the door behind him. Steve stumbled up to his feet, spinning around to look for something, anything, that would help him figure out what the hell was going on. He rushed over to the window that was just above the bed, in the corner of the room. First off, he tried pushing the window up, using as much strength as he had to try and pry it open.

 

“Fuck!” Steve exclaimed in frustration as the window didn’t even budge a millimeter. He looked back around the room, trying to find anything to hit the window with. If he couldn’t open it, he could at least try to smash it. Steve let out an angry sigh at not finding anything. These people were smart. Everything was either screwed down to their surface or simply too difficult for Steve to pull away from whatever it was attached to. Instead, Steve balled his fist up tightly before bringing it down against the window.

 

He didn’t stop until his own blood was smeared over the unshattered window. Steve sighed in defeat, sliding down the wall until he met the bed. He looked down at his bloody knuckles, wiping them down on the covers of the bed before resting them on top of his knees. Steve tipped his head back against the wall, continuing to survey the room in a hope that he _had_ missed something, and that there was some way to get out.

 

Steve didn’t know how long he was sat there for, or even at what point he fell asleep in the same position. But, he was awoken by a man in a suit entering his room, an armed guard either side of him.

 

“Ah, Mr. Rogers!” The man exclaimed, accent thick. He stepped further into the room to sit down on the edge of the bed, a few inches still between him and Steve.

 

“Who are you?” Steve asked immediately, skipping over the pleasantries. He was cold, tired and hungry and he just wanted some answers. “Where am I? Where did you find me?”

 

“You were in the ocean, Mr. Rogers. We rescued you. Saved your life. You should be thankful.”

 

“Thankful for what? You locking me up in a prison cell?” Steve asked, standing up from the bed. He stepped back slightly as the two armed men raised their guns, pointing them in his direction. Steve quickly looked over the two of them, assessing the best way to take them out.

 

“Stand down, stand down.” The man in the suit stood up, holding his hand out to the two guards.

 

“Where am I?” Steve demanded to know, looking back to the man.

 

“I am Doctor Mikhailov. We rescued you from the ocean. You had frozen over after you crashed the plane. The serum must have kept you alive for all these years.”

 

Steve looked over the man properly. He had brown hair which was slicked back and a well trimmed goatee. Steve looked down over his frame. He was slim, dressed in neat, pressed shirt and pants which suggested to Steve that he didn’t get his hands dirty. No, he had people to do that for him. Steve looked back to the two guards, looking over their uniforms more closely, noticing a badge, identical except for what he presumed to be their names.

 

Maybe Mikhailov ran some kind of organization.

 

“What language is that?” Steve asked, nodding his head in the direction of the guard’s name tags.

 

“It’s Russian, Mr. Rogers. We brought you here to our headquarters. We defrosted you and brought you back to full health. In return, we only ask for one small favor.” Doctor Mikhailov informed him.

 

“People in charge with fancy suits, usually want _favors_. Most of the time, they end up being the bad guys.”

 

“I assure you, Mr. Rogers. We are not the bad guys. We want you to help fight against them.”

 

“And if I don’t want to? If I want nothing to do with this? Would you let me leave out that door, with no struggle?” Steve asked, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“I’m afraid we can’t do that. We put our resources, money and time in making you better. Now you owe me something. You owe me your loyalty. Your...highly advanced skill set. There are people threatening my organisation, Mr. Rogers, and you _will_ be the one to eradicate the problem.”

 

\--

 

Steve didn't know what he was expecting after that confrontation. Perhaps he thought that Mikhailov would have given him the orders and make him go off on this mission straight away. Instead, he was given more food and water, then told to ‘get some rest’. It confused Steve. The caring tone to Mikhailov’s voice was an oxymoron to how he spoke to Steve previously. It didn’t fool Steve though, he knew Mikhailov didn’t _actually_ care about him. He just cared about what Steve could do for him. And he couldn’t do that if he was starved and tired.

 

Steve also hadn't been given anymore information on who or what the ‘problem’ was other than the tiny amount of information he got from the previous conversation. No matter how much he asked for more answers.

 

It was two weeks later that a file slid through the door, where he usually got his dinner delivered. Steve frowned, staring at the file from the opposite side of the room where he sat, as if just staring would give him the answers of what exactly was in it.

 

Steve hesitantly stood up from the floor, walking over to it carefully as if there was a bomb that would go off as soon as he touched it. He grabbed the file before going back to his seat on the floor. Steve flicked through it, frowning as he did so.

 

“Ahh, you have my file, Mr. Rogers!”

 

Steve’s head shot up, automatically reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. He let out a small breath, not enough to relax but to know he was a little safer now that he knew it was Mikhailov that stood in front of him and not a stranger. He knew he wouldn't be killed when he was still needed. And when that time came for them to kill him, he highly doubted he'd see Mikhailov standing in front of him.

 

“Is this,” he held the file up. “Why you're keeping me here?”

 

“No, Mr. Rogers, Steve, if I may. This is a warm up mission. You've been out of the field for a long, long time. Seventy years, to be precise. I don't know whether I can trust you, yet. This is a simple mission. The man in the file stole lots of money from me. I want you to bring him to me.” Doctor Mikhailov explained.

 

“What will you do with him?” Steve asked. He wasn’t going to go off and terrorize this guy if it would only end up with someone bring hurt. Because of Steve.

 

“That is none of your business, Steve. Your job is to capture this man and bring him to me. So I can get my money back.”

 

“ _What_ will you do with him?” Steve repeated, getting more frustrated at the vague answer.

 

This time he spoke as if through his teeth. “I have told you, Mr. Rogers, this has nothing to do with you. I am looking after you, feeding you, giving you somewhere to live. You do _not_ question me, do you understand?”

 

Steve looked up at the man whose face had gone red with anger, raising his eyebrows at him. Steve felt like he was back in Brooklyn and being shouted at by his teacher for not doing his homework.

 

“I don't think you understand, _Doctor._ You're the one who needs me. You need me to solve this problem of yours. If you didn't need me, you'd have killed me by now. But yet, you stand there and you shout. You bark your orders at me. I am not your puppet, Doctor. You don't scare me, I have the upper hand here..”

 

Steve didn't even see the Doctor step across the room, but he definitely felt the sharp slap across the face.

 

“You will do as I say. You don't wish to find out the consequences of not obeying me, Mr. Rogers. You have half an hour.” Mikhailov hissed in his face before leaving his cell, slamming the stainless steel door behind him.

 

Steve wiped his cheek, staring at the back of his hand where the smear of blood now was. Mikhailov must have caught him with one of his rings. He wiped the blood of his hand down his sweats before reaching forward for the file again.

 

Great. He only had half an hour to become fully briefed on the mission. Steve began studying the file closely, trying to remember as much as he could. Which, thanks to the help of the serum, by the time the people had come to collect him, he could recite the file front to back.

 

“You.” One of the soldiers standing at his door spoke to him in a gruff voice with a Russian accent. What he hadn't been expecting was a shield to be shoved into his chest. Not just a shield, but _his_ shield. Steve looked down, shocked for a minute. Where the hell had they got this from?

 

“Where did you get this? Is Peggy okay?” Steve asked, grabbing the soldier by his collar.

 

“Answer me!” He shouted, shoving the man against the wall. “Where. Did. You. Get. This?”

 

“Found. With you. Frozen.” The man told him in broken English.

 

Steve let go of the man, taking a deep breath. As soon as Steve had been handed the shield, he had expected the worse. That these people had gone after Peggy, hurt, or even worse, killed her all for this shield.

 

“Listen up!” Steve shouted out to the group of six soldiers all standing around him, their guns poised ready to shoot him after his reaction. “You guys are now part of my team. That means you're get your orders from me and _only_ me! I'm not risking any of our lives because you can't listen to orders.”

 

He looked around at the group of men in front of him, most of them just staring at him with blank expressions on their faces. Probably because they didn’t understand a word he was saying. Steve sighed in frustration, shaking his head.

 

“Never mind.” He mumbled, hooking the shield onto his forearm with the straps.

 

“I see you have met your team, Mr. Rogers. Sergey here knows English, he will be your translator.” Mikhailov greeted him for the second time that day.

 

Didn’t he have better things to be getting on with?

 

“Now, Cap, your transport is waiting. You have exactly three hours to return or one of your team members will be ordered to kill you.” Mikhailov went on to explain.

 

Steve nodded once before he was led away by a member of his new team. He looked around, trying to take in as much as he could when he was led outside. The first thing he noticed was how bitterly cold it was, the crunch of the ice and snow under his feet. Steve was just glad the serum kept his body temperature running so high that he didn’t feel the sharp sting of the cold air on his skin. That didn’t stop the shiver running through him as he remembered the ache and pain in his bones whilst he was being defrosted from the ice.

 

He trod carefully over to the black, disguised van that was waiting for them. Steve climbed in, sitting in the back row so he could see everyone. He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure that there even was a mission. For all he knew, they could be here to take him somewhere and kill him. Hell, he’d wound Mikhailov up enough to warrant his murder.

 

It turned out to actually be a mission. A simple, effortless one at that. He had organised his new team to infiltrate the building and soon they had the guy handcuffed in the van. Steve didn’t want to know what was going to happen. He couldn’t bear the thought of what would be done to the guy sat next to him. Steve just hoped he would be set free after Mikhailov had his money back.

 

After the mission was complete, Steve was taken back to his cell and the shield taken away from him. What he hadn’t been expecting was the desk that was now in the room, along with another manila folder laid on top of it.

 

He frowned, walking over to the desk slowly and picking up the dossier. The first thing he noticed was the post it note stuck to the top of it. ‘ _Your next mission’,_ it read. Steve sighed, sitting down and opening the file up to begin reading through. He thought it would have been for the reason he was here, the massive issue that Mikhailov had, but it wasn’t. It was just another petty thing where someone else owed him money.

 

It carried on like that for weeks, maybe even months. Steve didn’t know, he had no way of knowing what day or even year it was. He also didn’t know what was happening to these people he was capturing and bringing to his ‘boss’. Steve wasn’t an idiot and he knew that there was a very high chance they were being killed, and that this had _nothing_ to do with Mikhailov collecting money back.

 

And that alone was killing Steve with guilt. He didn’t want to carry on doing this. He wanted to stop. To go back to Brooklyn or even being frozen would be better than what he was doing right now. Steve just hoped that Mikhailov would tell him the main reason he was here and make him do whatever it is he had to do, so he could leave.

 

\--

 

Six months passed. Steve had taken to chalking the number of days that had passed on the wall. One hundred and eighty two days. Six different missions. And none of which were for the reason he'd been kept here.

 

Over time, they did start trusting him more. Now, when he went on missions, he was given his shield _and_ a gun. Luckily for him, after one of the missions, the guy who'd they just captured had tried to run. Which meant that no one noticed when he tucked the gun down the back of his trousers. So now Steve had something to escape with.

 

He was still working on how exactly he was going to escape.

 

They'd also given him a suit.

 

It was similar to his old, Captain America suit. The stripes were the same but the blue was less...vibrant. It was more black than blue. Steve hated himself even more for _liking_ it.

 

The guilt had gotten even worse over time. He'd made the mistake of asking one of his ‘team’ what happened to the people they were bringing to Mikhailov. From the little English the man spoke, Steve had worked out that this, in fact, had nothing to do with money. At all.

 

It turned out, Steve was collecting these people for them to be killed. He was marching people to their deaths once a week. Once he'd been told about this, he went back to his room and threw up. He didn't eat for the rest of that week. He couldn't deal with the guilt that was eating him up from the inside.

 

The guilt never got better, but Steve learned to harden his heart. He did not let anyone else see how he felt about all of this. That would be weakness to them, which would only end up with him being killed. And Steve wanted to survive this.

 

On day one hundred and ninety-six, his next mission came. Like the rest of the files, this one too came with a post it note attached to it.

 

Usually, it was just the date of the mission and when they'd be leaving. But this time was different.

 

‘THE REASON YOU ARE HERE, MR. ROGERS.’

 

Steve took a shaky breath as he looked at the post it note. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. This was it. What all these petty missions had been for. Steve automatically knew this mission was different, simply by just how thick the dossier was.

 

He pulled the post it note off slowly as he sunk into the seat at his desk. Steve stared at the beige cover of the folder, the writing staring back at him.

 

“The Winter Soldier…” Steve whispered to himself as he read the title. His frown deepened. What was that?

 

He jumped slightly as the metal slider on his door slammed open and shut. Steve whipped around, only to find a mug sat there. He shrugged his shoulders as he went over and grabbed it before going back to his desk.

 

It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be given ‘treats’. Usually for good behaviour. The first time it happened Steve didn’t dare touch it. He was too apprehensive about what it might be. Whether there was some kind of drug to control him. It took several fights with Mikhailov before he realised that it genuinely was just coffee.

 

And whether it was drugged or not _now_ , Steve definitely needed it to get through this file.

 

He sat back down at his desk and began reading through the file slowly.

 

 

\--

 

After he’d finished the file, he was confused as hell. There was _nothing_ on this guy, how he became The Winter Soldier, how Hydra were still around, or even what Mikhailov wanted with him.

 

The one thing Steve did know, was that this guy was dangerous. He’d killed thousands of people. And while Steve _knew_ that The Soldier wasn’t to blame (Steve knew what Hydra was like, there was no way they hadn’t done something to him), he knew that The Soldier would be erratic and dangerous.

 

If Steve could have it his way, he’d be going after The Winter Soldier by himself. Just himself and his shield. That way he’d know what was truly going on. This way was more dangerous. Not only did he have to look out for The Soldier, he had to make sure his team didn’t do anything stupid.

 

And by stupid, he meant make sure they didn’t end up killed by The Soldier.

 

—

 

Steve awoke to the sound of chaos outside his cell door, heavy feet pounding against the floor and the continuous shouting in Russian.

 

He jumped out of bed, banging on the door.

 

“What’s going on?!” Steve shouted.

 

“Ahh, Mr. Rogers. It appears that The Winter Soldier has been spotted not too far from here.” Mikhailov suddenly appeared at his jaw, making Steve step back slightly. “You’ll be leaving now. I hope you’ve read the file. Suit up.”

 

And with that, he was gone again.

 

Steve rushed to pull his suit on, grabbing his shield and hooking it on to his back. He hesitated at the location of his hidden gun before leaving it. Steve knew he’d be given another one in the van.

 

He thought they would be driven to the exact location that The Winter Soldier had last been spotted but instead they were taken to a hotel room within the city. Steve had only guessed that this room had a clear sighting of where this guy was.

 

“Nobody shoots unless I give clear and direct instructions to do so, understand?” Steve called out to the room. They’d been here hours now and Steve had set them up into positions with a long range sniper gun and a position within the hotel room to look through.

 

Steve himself was also laid across the floor on his front, eyes straining through the viewfinder as he waited.

 

It wasn’t long before The Winter Soldier himself was standing in clear range. Steve didn’t know what he was expecting him to look like this (the only photos in the file being blurred ones of him with a mask on). He still had the mask on, but different to the files, his eyes were on show. In replace of the goggles and mask combination, was thick, smudged, eyeliner that Steve noticed made his eyes stand out (not that that mattered... _focus, Rogers._ ) Along with a long, pink scar that ran from his forehead to his eyebrow.

 

Steve popped his head up to look out the window, using his better than twenty-twenty vision to try and spot him.

 

“I have a visual.” He mumbled quietly, his pulse throbbing where his finger rested on the trigger. Steve looked back up out of the window, plan formulating in his head. He took a deep breath before squeezing the trigger, aiming it just to the left of The Winter Soldier’s head.

 

 

“Stay here.” Steve warned his team before smashing through the hotel window with his shield, jumping out. He held onto his shield tightly as he dropped through the air, landing on the roof of a building with a groan, the shield taking up most of the force.

 

He couldn’t lay there and bask in the pain, not matter how much he wanted to though. Steve scrambled to his feet, chasing after The Soldier across the rooftops.

 

Steve flinched slightly as The Winter Soldier stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning to face Steve. He moved effortlessly and if _both_ their lives weren’t on the line right now, Steve definitely would have marveled in that some more.

 

It was like time stopped as they both just stared at one another, waiting for the other to make the first move. It was The Winter Soldier that did, raising his rifle and shooting at Steve.

 

Steve flinched as one of the bullets grazed his bicep as he moved to hold his shield up, protecting himself from the bullets. He waited until there was a split second chance before throwing his shield at The Soldier.

 

What Steve hadn’t been expecting, was him to be able to stop the shield in its tracks with his metal arm.

 

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. _He must have some kind of serum,_ Steve thought to himself. He was taken out of his own thoughts by the sound of a whirring, mechanical noise of The Soldier’s metal arm before his shield was thrown back into him.

 

Steve caught it just in time, before throwing it back, this time aiming for the hand which held the rifle, thankful when it dropped to the floor. He grabbed the shield as it ricochet back, hooking it onto his back before marching forward, kicking the gun off the side of the roof.

 

He couldn’t help but let out a small sigh as The Winter Soldier plucked a knife out of...well, Steve had no idea. Steve held his fists, staring intensely at the man in front of him, waiting for his first move.

 

It didn’t come though. Instead, what happened was a small dart filled with a dark green liquid pierced The Soldier’s neck, knocking him out instantly.

 

“What the fuck was that?!” Steve shouted, hand pressed against the comms in his ear.

 

“That, Mr. Rogers, was our own super soldier tranquilizer. I saw you were stalling.” Mikhailov’s voice rang out through his ear. That was the last thing he heard, before he too, was shot with a dart.

 

\--

 

Steve groaned as he woke up in his cell, his body aching and head throbbing. He frowned as he tried to think about how he got back here. The last thing he remembered was fighting The Winter Soldier on the rooftop and then being shot by a tranquilizer.

 

He sat up groggily, leaning against the wall as he couldn’t support himself.

 

Being shot with a home-made tranq wasn't exactly part of the plan. He was supposed to be free now. He’d done what Mikhailov had asked. He’d got The Winter Soldier to him...kind of. But, now both of them were captured and stuck here.

 

Steve let out another groan before collapsing flat on the bed and falling back asleep.

 

Three months passed from that day, the collection of lines on the walls to mark each of the days Steve had been here, growing bigger and bigger.

 

Three months and Steve was going out of his mind. Since capturing The Winter Soldier, he hadn’t been let out of his cell. No missions, no freedom that was promised to him. Just the steel door and three grubby walls.

 

Sure, Steve was still being fed and watered but that didn’t change the fact he felt like he was going crazy. Mikhailov hadn’t been to see him, hadn’t explained a single thing about what was happening to him.

 

If Steve didn’t know any better, he would have thought he’d been forgotten down here.

 

Of course, the lack of doing anything, just sent his mind into overdrive. Specifically about The Winter Soldier.

 

He was dying to know what they were doing to him. Whether they were hurting him because of Steve. Steve didn’t know whether he should have just left The Winter Soldier, pretended he didn’t see him that day and let himself face the consequences of that.

Whoever The Soldier was, had clearly been through enough, having been created by Hydra. And now, Steve was no better than them, having fed him to the lions himself.

 

“Long time, no see, Mr. Rogers.”

 

Steve’s head shot up as he heard Mikhailov speak. He stood to his feet, walking over to his desk, leaning against it.

 

“Are you going to let me go, now? I did what you asked, I got you The Winter Soldier. That’s what you told me my stay here would cost. And yet, I’m still here. When will I be leaving?” Steve demanded, staring at Mikhailov through the window.

 

“You will be leaving right now, Mr. Rogers.”

 

What?

 

He hadn’t been expecting _that_. Steve assumed he was going to have to kick and shoot his way out of this place.

 

“Leave your belongings here. Take a walk with me, first. Then we can discuss the arrangements of your departure.”

 

Steve frowned, waiting for the split second where no one’s attention was on him to grab the hidden gun, tucking it in the hem of his jeans under his shirt. Steve wasn’t stupid. He knew this wasn’t a friendly walk. They definitely had something else planned for him.

 

He walked willingly out of the door as it was opened, following after Mikhailov as he led him down the dark, quiet corridor. Steve continued to look around, taking as much information as he could in, waiting for the right moment to strike and get out of this place.

 

“What’s going on?” Steve asked immediately as he was led through a crowd to the center of a boxing ring. He turned around, slowly looking at the masses of people that were all cheering and shouting in Russian.

 

“You see, Mr. Rogers, this...serum that you has that made you so big and strong, that turned you into _Captain America,_ it is using up far too much of my resources. Especially now that there are two of your kind. I simply cannot have that. Live through this and you will be free to remain as a soldier within my company.”

 

“Live through what, exactly?”

 

“A fight to the death, Mr. Rogers. You remember The Winter Soldier, right?” Mikhailov asked rhetorically as he stepped back outside of the ring.

 

Steve looked over as the crowd parted, The Winter Soldier with a cotton sack over his head being led through the crowd, six guards all holding him tight.

 

“You remember your old pal, Bucky? Don’t you, Mr. Rogers?”

 

The colour from Steve’s face drained as he looked on. The sack was taken off of The Soldier’s head, revealing his face, this time without his mask on.

 

“Bucky…?” Steve whispered as he saw The Soldier’s true identity for the first time.

 

No. There was no way that The Winter Soldier was Bucky, his Bucky. He’d watched him fall off the train and die. Steve had failed to save him. But the scar on his face and the metal arm matched that of The Winter Soldier. If Bucky truly was him, why didn’t he recognise him on the rooftop?

 

Steve felt sick to his stomach but there wasn’t anything he could do as The Winter Soldier, _Bucky_ , charged forward. He ducked the punch, pressing his hands flat against Bucky’s chest and pushing him backwards.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Steve told him quietly, dodging another punch. “Would you stop? Buck, please. I can get us out of here but you have to _stop._ ”

 

Bucky didn’t answer, except kick Steve in the knee. He let out a sharp gasp at the pain, dropping down to his knees.

 

“Bucky, listen to me! Please.” He begged, glad that the cheering was so loud that no one could hear him talking.

 

“I have a gun. We can get out of here. I know you don’t want to be here. If I’d have known it was _you_ on the rooftop...”

 

_Not the time, Steve._

 

“Do you have any weapons on you?” Steve asked, hopeful.

 

Bucky seemed to finally stop and understand what Steve was trying to say to him, his fist raised mid air.

 

“I have a knife in my shoe.” Bucky spoke gruffly for the first time.

 

Steve wanted to stop and take in hearing Bucky’s voice for the first time in over seventy years, but he knew there was no time for that, yet.

 

“Okay, good. Good. I know you want to kill me right now. Heck, I want to kill me too for bringing you here. And you can. But, we have to get out of this place first. Your aim is better than mine, I’ll give you the gun, you take out Mikhailov. The goons won’t know what to do when the leader is taken down. Punch me.” Steve quickly prompted Bucky, groaning when he did as Steve told him to.

 

“Not that hard. You coulda at least pulled it a little, fuck.” Steve complained, laying flat on the floor, Bucky now kneeling over him.

 

“So you take down the leader. Then we just fight our way through the rest and make a run for it. Understand, Buck?”

 

“What’s a Buck?” Was the only reply Steve got and if he wasn’t so upset by those words, he probably would have laughed.

 

And cried.

 

Steve really wanted to cry. But, he could do that after the pair of them got out of here.

 

“Sorry.” Steve whispered to Bucky before punching him, jumping to his feet as Bucky stumbled back slightly. He stalked over to where Bucky was, grabbing him by the collar of his white shirt. “The gun is in the back of my jeans. Take it out as subtle as you can.”

 

Bucky nodded his head slightly, barely noticeable to the average onlooker. He then proceeded to knee Steve in the stomach, making him double over with a loud groan of pain.

 

Steve didn’t even register the knee coming up to hit him in the head, but he sure felt the throbbing pain as he collapsed on the floor from the pain. He barely noticed Bucky rolling him over and pressing a knee into his back.

 

“You’re not supposed to hit me that hard.” Steve grumbled into the canvas, letting out a soft sigh as he felt Bucky reaching for the gun. He moved his hand to the side of Bucky’s boot, pulling out the knife.

 

Steve didn’t know whether Bucky was even understanding him. He clearly didn’t recognise Steve but yet he seemed to be going along with what he was saying. Bucky also wasn’t holding back on his hits which made Steve all the more uncertain he wasn’t just pummeling him for his weapon.

 

He didn’t have time to think about it as the sounds of the gunshots sounded out and chaos ensued.

 

\--

 

If Steve was being completely honest with himself, he hadn’t actually expected this plan to work. But it turned out, it actually was going to. Sure, he hadn’t been expecting Bucky to show up and help him kick ass, nor had he been expecting to have to kill as many of these people as he had to. It was still nowhere near as many as Bucky had in the last twenty minutes but it was _far_ more than Steve was used to.

 

But here they were making their way through the final door between them and freedom. Honestly, Steve was expecting to have got the killed by his hesitancy or the stupid (yes, even he himself could admit it was stupid) idea he had to run back, _in the opposite direction,_ and go and collect his shield from his cell.

 

If Bucky was....well, Bucky, Steve just knew he’d be shouting and hitting Steve for being such an idiot. Instead, all Steve got was one small sound of protest and a deadly look.

 

Steve had no idea what happened to Bucky but he knew it was bad. Bucky wasn’t even Bucky anymore. There was no sarcastic comments or even any recognition from Bucky when they saw each other for the first time in over seventy years. But worse of all, Steve missed the look in Bucky’s eyes that he used to have when he looked at Steve. The look of fondness, love and exasperation was gone and in its wake was just a dead, empty glance.

 

Steve hated that look more than anything.

 

“Follow me.” Bucky told Steve gruffly before marching off in the direction of the trees without even waiting for Steve to follow.

 

Of course, Steve wasn’t going to wait too long and soon he was stumbling over his own feet as he rushed after Bucky.

 

“Where are we going?” Steve asked curiously once he’d finally caught up.

 

“My home.”

 

“Your home? As in the place you lived with Hydra?”

 

“No.”

 

“No? What does no mean? Buck, can you just -” Steve grabbed hold of Bucky by the arm, turning him to face Steve.

 

Steve was an idiot. He knew that. Of course, grabbing a deadly assassin by the arm would never end well for anyone. And Steve was no different. Before he knew it, he was pressed up against a rough tree, heavy metal arm pressed against his throat and a gun against his forehead.

 

“Do. Not. Touch. Me.” Bucky growled to Steve.

 

“O-Okay..” Steve gasped for breath. He wasn’t scared. He could never be scared of Bucky. “Okay, Buck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch. I’m just worried. I don’t know where we are going.” Steve explained calmly.

 

“I have a cabin. Thirty miles from here. No Hydra. No Russian mob. When you caught me, I was just living as a nobody. Not this ‘Bucky’ you keep calling me. Not ‘The Winter Soldier’ they called me. It is safe. But we have to keep moving. We didn’t kill them all, there’s bound to be people after us.” Bucky explained to Steve before pulling off of him and continued marching through the forest.

 

Steve gasped, catching his breath as the figure of Bucky got smaller and smaller. He chased after him, catching up with him easily.

 

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered, although his apology was left unanswered.

 

\--

 

They didn’t stop. Bucky made them walk the entire thirty miles without rest. Always looking over his shoulder, making sure that no one was following after them. Steve didn’t dare say another word or ask another question. The only downside to that was Steve doing what he did best...thinking too much.

 

He knew that he wasn’t allowed to ask questions. That Bucky wouldn’t tell him even if he asked (that would just end in Bucky probably shooting Steve). But Steve _had_ to know what happened to his Bucky.

 

The Bucky who had gone off to war after making promises of what was to come for the two of them when he returned.

 

_We can give this a go, Stevie. No more dames, just you and me working this out._

 

Steve wished more than anything they could go back. He didn’t regret taking the opportunity to become who he is now. He was healthy and nothing hurt anymore.

 

Except the ache in his chest from missing Bucky and the guilt that was eating him alive.

 

But he wished, more than anything, that somehow him and Bucky could go back to before Bucky fell off that train.

 

Maybe there was some way Steve could have saved him. Or failing that, Steve could’ve made sure not to make the same mistake he did and leave Bucky vulnerable with only Steve’s shield to protect himself.

 

Bucky could’ve lived and they could have gone home to Brooklyn together. Sure, they wouldn’t have been able to be together and to go out as _boyfriends_ for meals or just simple strolls through the park. But at least Bucky would’ve known who he was.

 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears back. He wasn’t going to start crying. Not until they were in Bucky’s cabin where he could be alone and let himself cry.

 

His feet hurt, he was hungry and thirsty as hell. Steve knew his cheeks were flushed pink and his skin layered with a thin shine of sweat. Not that it mattered, Bucky wasn’t going to let them stop. At some point in the last five miles, Bucky had taken hold of Steve’s shirt and was practically dragging him along behind him.

 

He didn’t touch his skin. Steve didn’t know whether that was just a pure coincidence or whether Bucky knew exactly what he was doing. He didn’t know but he had a strong inkling that it was the latter.

 

“I-Is this your place?” Steve asked, voice croaking on the first word.

 

“It’s abandoned. I camped out in the trees for a week, watching the cabin for any sign of someone living here. But, nobody came. So I moved in.”

 

He looked around as Bucky dragged him inside. He watched as Bucky shoved a chair up against the door. Steve let out a small little sigh. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. Nothing made sense to him.

 

“It’s...safe?” Steve asked, placing his shield down slowly against the couch.

 

“I’m working on the perimeter. You captured me before I could get the materials I needed.” Bucky explained, stuffing his backpack down under the wooden floor slabs.

 

“Oh,” Steve whispered. “I’m sorry. About that. I didn’t realise it was, well, you. Not that it would have been okay if it was someone else. It wouldn’t have been. I still did the wrong thing. I felt guilty every day about the things they made me do.” He explained quietly.

 

Bucky scoffed, turning around to face Steve. “You feel bad about the things they made you do? Tell me, Steve, how many people did they make you kill?”

 

“N-None. I mean, not directly. I just..the people I c-captured ended up dead. Probably.” Steve stuttered out his explanation.

 

“Hydra made me kill thousands of people, Steve. You don’t get to feel guilty.” Bucky told him, slamming down the gun on the countertop before leaving the main room, through a little door on the side.

 

Probably the bedroom, Steve had no idea. Not that it mattered, right now. The guilt was even worse. Eating Steve up alive. Why hadn’t he gotten to Bucky sooner? Why did he let him fall in the first place?

 

This was all his fault.

 

If he’d have been better at his job, he’d have been able to get out of that place. Hell, he probably would have been able to not put the plane in the ocean. If he was better, he could have figured out a way to disassemble the bombs instead of just putting them in the ocean.

 

Steve curled up in the couch, ignoring how _nice_ it felt to sit on something so comfy, and let himself cry.

 

He cried for Bucky. For losing Bucky the first time, for what Hydra did to him, for having to fight him in that stupid ring.

 

He cried for those people he’d captured. He hoped they were free now. That Mikhailov _hadn’t_ killed them and thanks to Bucky and Steve, they were free and safe.

 

He cried for this unknown world he was now living in.

 

Steve was out of his depth. There was so much new in this world, and he’d barely seen half of it.

 

He cried because of how soft this couch was. Steve shuffled himself off the edge of the couch and back on the floor. He curled himself up and cried until he fell asleep.

 

Steve didn’t know how long he slept until he was being nudged awake by someone prodding him awake. He groaned, rolling over and trying to go back to sleep before he realised that he was on the floor and that it was _Bucky_ prodding him awake, with his foot.

 

“Hi.” He mumbled, turning back to face Bucky. “What time is it?”

 

“You need to eat. I made you food.” Bucky told him shortly before turning away. Steve nodded his head slightly, letting out a little sigh before climbing to his feet and making his way over to the kitchen.

 

Bucky and Steve sat at the table, eating the pasta Bucky had made them in silence. It was awkward. Steve didn’t know what to say, what to do. He was apprehensive to say anything, not wanting to hurt or upset Bucky in any way.  

 

It carried on like that for weeks. Steve tip-toeing around Bucky, unsure of himself with enough awkward silences to last a lifetime. Of course, Steve had questions. He was naturally a curious guy and eventually, the questions started coming out before he had chance to stop himself.

 

“So um, your arm is metal.” Steve mentioned one morning whilst they were eating breakfast in silence. Bucky stopped eating, spoonful of cereal halted in midair. “Does it...do you feel things with it?”

 

Steve blushed red at the bland look on Bucky’s face, embarrassed for asking. He wasn’t to be blamed though, Steve just wanted to know. It wasn’t like Bucky had a metal arm when they were back in Brooklyn.

 

“How long have you been living here?” This question came a week after the first, this time they were chopping logs for the fire together after Bucky had gruffly instructed him that they needed more wood.

 

“A few months.” Was the short reply Steve got, the same brusque tone to his voice that he always spoke to Steve with, the tone suggesting that he really, _really_ didn’t want to be speaking to Steve. Like Steve was some kind of annoying child that wouldn’t leave him alone.

 

“Do you remember the people you killed?”

 

Steve knew as soon as the words had blurted out of his mouth, from the flinch that Bucky gave, that this was definitely _not_ the right question to be asking.

 

In Steve’s defense, he hadn’t meant the words to come out. It was just one of his own trail of thoughts. They were currently sat watching the television. Or at least, they were both pretending. Steve was sketching Bucky (always Bucky), in an old notebook he found laying around whilst Bucky was staring blankly at the television screen. Steve knew that he wasn’t really paying attention to the documentary.

 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Bucky to reply with. Maybe he was expecting Bucky to shout at him. But instead, he got up from the couch, as elegantly as always (something which Steve knew he had long before Hydra got hold of him) and left the room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him.

 

Steve _knew_ he should leave it, that even asking the question was a bad mistake. Getting up and following after Bucky though...that was pure stupidity. But it didn’t stop him. Steve wanted to make sure that Bucky was alright. Especially if Steve was the one to have upset him.

 

“Buck?” Steve called through the door, tapping his knuckle against the wood once. He waited, patiently, for an answer, a small frown on his face when there was no reply.

 

“Bucky?” He called for a second time, reaching for the handle to try and undo it.

 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It just...came out. By accident. I don’t need to know the answer if you don’t want to tell me. You don’t even have to come out of there. Just let me know you’re okay, please?” Steve begged.

 

Steve flinched as the door flew open, not that he had time to register it before he was pinned to the opposite wall, metal hand around his throat.

 

“I remember every single one of them. Every scream of pain. Every plead and every beg for me not to kill them. The faces of the women and the _children_ before I pulled the trigger. The sound of crying. All of it.” Bucky hissed into his ear, hand around Steve’s throat getting tighter.

 

Steve gasped for air, doing his best to claw at the hand around his throat, wanting to be released.

 

“I don’t need _you_ reminding me. Not when I’m doing my best to _not_ kill you. Stop tempting me.” He growled to Steve before dropping him back to his feet and slamming the bedroom door shut behind him.

 

Steve soon stopped asking questions, learning to bite his tongue and keep shut whenever they were in the same room together. He didn’t blame Bucky, right or wrong. Steve knew that Bucky wasn’t in the right frame of mind, he’d never blame Bucky for something that was entirely Steve’s fault.

 

Months passed of them just...existing together. They didn’t talk, not like before, at least. They spoke to each other, simple things such as ‘ _I’m going to scan the perimeter’_ or _‘We need to cut more logs for the fireplace.’_ and of course, Steve just agreed and went off to do whatever Bucky would ask of him.

 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky spoke one day after the fourth or fifth month of them living in the cabin together. They were sat, in silence, watching some modern movie on the television that Steve wasn’t all to sure on the storyline.

 

“It’s okay.” Was Steve’s automated response. “Wait - what?” He asked, small frown on his face when he realised that Bucky was _apologising_.

 

“For nearly killing you.” Bucky cleared his throat, sitting up on the couch. Steve closed his sketchbook, putting it down on the floor as he shuffled to turn and face Bucky.

 

“For being so...grumpy and sensitive. About stuff. Of course, you would’ve had questions. I’m sorry for scaring you and making your life hell for the past months. I should’ve let you ask those questions. You can ask them now. I want to give you that.” Bucky went on to explain in a quiet voice.

 

“How are you alive?” Steve asked hesitantly, hands clenched together tightly with sweaty palms.

 

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, looking down at his lap. “It’s...you remember when you saved me? During the war? When my unit got captured...they did e-experiments. I think they were trying to recreate the serum. I guess that was what saved me...when I fell.

 

I remember bits and pieces. Being dragged through the snow, the pain. It felt like I was on fire, the p-pain...I don’t have the words to describe it. I remember waking up...with this arm. Zola. My uh...memories being wiped. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut as he listened, tears falling freely down his cheeks. “I-I should’ve caught you. None of this would’ve happened.” He whispered, voice breaking.

 

“There was nothing you could do, Steve. They would’ve come for me one way or another.” Bucky told him gently.

 

“They kept me in cryo.” He went on to explain further. “Waking me up when they needed someone to do something for them. Sometimes a shoot-to-kill order, purely just that. Sometimes to extract information or something. I’d do the mission. They’d wipe me. I’d go back in cryo.

 

It took me over sixty years to escape. At first, I didn’t even know what I was doing was wrong. I had no memories, I didn’t know any better. Sometimes they’d forget, or not bother, to wipe me. And B-Bucky would come back. A memory or two. Most of the time, it was like I was in the background of my own mind, watching this...other version of me, kill.

 

Someone infiltrated the Hydra base where I was stored. I took my chance whilst I could and made a run for it, killing anyone in my way. I had my chance to leave, and I wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop me.”

 

Rationally, Steve knew it wasn’t his fault. That this was _all_ Hydra’s doing. But he couldn’t stop the niggle of doubt that was creeping into his mind. Couldn’t stop feeling that he could’ve done better, could’ve found Bucky, could’ve caught him before he fell.

 

It kept Steve up all night, even more now he had more details about Bucky and what happened. He tossed and turned on the couch as he tried to get the visions of what happened to Bucky out of his head.

 

Steve wished he could’ve been better...for Bucky.

 

It was better from there. They spoke more openly, acted more like friends.

 

Of course, that wasn’t what Steve truly wanted to be. Steve wanted more. But he didn’t even know if Bucky knew about their secret hidden kisses under the duvet that they used to share. And if he did, did Bucky still feel that way?

 

“I had a memory come back last night.” Bucky spoke up. They were sat in the kitchen eating dinner together which two months ago, before their talk that night on the couch, would’ve been unimaginable to Steve. “Or at least...what I think was a memory and not a dream.”

 

“Really?” Steve smiled happily. “What was it? I can help clarify it if you want.”

 

“I had a memory that we...kissed.”

 

“Oh.” Steve whispered, putting his fork down. “Yeah...yeah, that, uh, that happened.” He confirmed.

 

“Is that...was that what we were? Did we do that...often?”

 

“Um, uh, kind of?” Steve squeaked out. “We were something...in between.”

 

“In between?” Bucky asked with a confused frown on his face.

 

“Um, y-yeah, in between. It was...we kissed. Quite a few times. Maybe more than we should’ve done. But we weren’t like, in a relationship. You uh...nevermind.” Steve shook his head quickly.

 

“No, no tell me, please.”

 

Steve sighed, looking down at his bowl for a moment. “I don’t want you to feel pressured or like you have some kind of obligation to me. You don’t. And I’m not asking for this. But before you left...for war, you made a promise to me. That we’d give this a go. Me and you...as a couple.”

 

“Oh…” Bucky whispered.

 

“It’s not something that I’m expecting of you, things are - wait where are you going?” Steve frowned as he watched Bucky stand up. He stalked over to the other side of the dinner table to where Steve was sat.

 

“Bucky?” Steve whispered in confusion as Bucky cupped Steve’s cheeks.

 

“Shh.” He whispered before leaning down and pressing their lips together.

 

Steve gasped into Bucky’s mouth, kissing him back desperately as his hand curled in the front of Bucky’s shirt. He couldn’t believe this was happening. His Bucky was _kissing_ him. Kissing Steve.

 

Steve whined as Bucky pulled away, the kiss over way too soon for his liking.

 

“We can do this more. I’m okay with this. I’ll need more time for...other things. Like, sex. That sort of stuff will take time.”

 

‘Time’ turned out to be over a year.

 

They’d done ‘other stuff’ over time, a handjob here and there. Lots of blowjobs on Steve’s part. A few on Bucky’s part, not that Steve minded. He’d take whatever Bucky would give him.

 

Usually it started off as they were now, making out lazily, Bucky palming over Steve’s length over his trousers.

 

Most of the time, they would stay like that until Steve was coming in his pants like a teenager, sometimes Bucky would push Steve’s head down into his crotch, no words spoken.

 

They didn’t talk much about it. Steve didn’t know whether it was because Bucky was embarrassed or just...didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t mind though, they were them...crazy and different to any conventional relationship. But, their whole circumstances were unusual, so Steve found it quite fitting.

 

Tonight was no different and soon Steve felt that familiar tug on his shirt which usually meant to get up, that they were taking this to the bedroom.

 

“Wanna fuck you.” Bucky whispered against Steve’s lips.

 

Steve moaned, nodding his head desperately until he realised what Bucky had said. “Wait, are you sure, Buck? We’ve not...done that before.” He asked, pulling back to look at Bucky properly, lips swollen red.

 

“I said so, didn’t I? Of course I want to fuck you. I’ll be okay, I’m not going to kill you mid-fuck.” Bucky teased.

 

“O-Okay, okay yeah. Yeah.” Steve nodded in agreement, blush on his cheeks.

 

“Are you sure? You don’t sound like you really want to.” Bucky made sure, small frown on his face as he stared over at Steve.

 

Steve let out a small huff, leaning forward and pressing a bold, harsh kiss to Bucky’s lips.

 

“Yes, I’m sure. Now, take me to your bedroom.”

 

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Bucky teased, standing up from the couch and taking Steve’s hand to pull him in the direction of the bedroom.

 

\--

 

It’d have been a week since the two of them slept together for the first time. Steve could happily say that it had only made their relationship better. They spoke more now, were more honest with each other, whispers in the middle of the night as they held one another.

 

“I have a surprise for you.” Steve spoke up, looking over at Bucky with a grin. He’d been planning this all day, acting skittish and receiving weird looks from Bucky. Not that that was any different.

 

“A...surprise? I’m not good with surprises, Stevie.”

 

“You’ll love this one. I promise.” Steve grinned, standing up from the couch and pulling Bucky outside. “Eyes closed.”

 

“What’s...what’s all this?” Bucky frowned as he was lead outside, eyes closed, by Steve.

 

“This is a surprise, Buck.” Steve grinned.

 

“If I’d have known you were going to start handing out surprises _after_ I slept with you, I would’ve done it a lot sooner.” He teased, squeezing Steve’s hand.

 

“Don’t make me regret this. Okay, you can open your eyes.”

 

“Steve…” Bucky whispered as he looked around.

 

It wasn’t much. It was literally just a picnic in the middle of the forest at night, so they could stargaze.

 

“You used to love space when we were younger.” Steve explained, blush on his cheeks, even in the cold night.

 

“I...I - Steve.” Bucky smiled, lost for words as he wrapped his boyfriend into a hug. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Bucky Barnes.”

 

\--

 

Nick Fury stepped out of the helicopter, trench coat blowing behind him as he walked over to the cabin, knocking twice on the wooden door. It didn’t take long before Steve Rogers was opening the door, shield held up in his hands. Of course, The Winter Soldier wasn’t far behind, his gun raised and aimed directly at Nick’s head.

 

“Steve Rogers. Bucky Barnes.” Nick greeted, reaching in to his inside pocket for his badge. “Stand down, Sergent. It’s just my badge.” He informed them both, noticing the way they both raised their respected weapons up a little higher.

 

“It’s Bucky.” The former Winter Soldier spoke gruffly to him.

 

“I’m Director Nick Fury. Head of Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.” Nick sighed, seeing the blank looks of their faces. “S.H.I.E.LD. for short. This is for you, Bucky.” He held out the completed version of Bucky’s file. “Here at S.H.I.E.L.D. we protect the world from threats beyond the capabilities of standard national security agencies. I’m setting up a team of elite people, called The Avengers. I want you two to join.”

 

\--

  



End file.
